


While You Sleep

by RedBubbles



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith being a stubborn babe, M/M, Nightmares, One Shot, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pretty graphic description of a panic attack, Shiro has PTSD, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7989709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBubbles/pseuds/RedBubbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flashbacks plague his waking hours, nightmares haunt his dreams. His mind constantly transporting him back to the Galran ship, never allowing him to rest, never letting him find contentment. But perhaps that could change?</p>
            </blockquote>





	While You Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I just love some good old cute, fluffy Sheith to get me through the day. I saw a head canon that Shiro also gets nightmares on top of his conscious flashbacks, so I thought I'd write about one of those times, with some gentle comforting Keith thrown in.
> 
> I might also do something like this for Hunk and Lance?? Maybe??
> 
> (My Tumblr is http://dinosaur-proxy.tumblr.com/ )

Caught between what terrifies him, and what he does not remember. 

Gripped by hands and held firm by shackles, pinning him to the floor, rendering him immobile and helpless to their experiments. 

Ragged breaths through his strained throat, his heart still beating even after he begged it to stop. 

Limbs so weak he couldn’t move even if he were free to do so.

His heart thuds harder, and each breath is more laboured. 'One day' he thinks, 'one day, they’ll kill me. Let them, let them kill me’. He strains every muscle in his body, desperately trying to break free, as the skin-crawlingly familiar prick of a needle enters his thigh.  
“No!” he screams, voice hoarse, “please, no more! Please!”

Hands gripping him, holding his shoulders firmly, shaking hard, as the serum courses through his veins, burning up his blood. His poor heart beats harder, sealing his fate as the toxic liquid is only pushed faster through his helpless body.

He can’t move. His limbs are like rocks, his head weighed down by his frantic brain. Distress signals bolt through his body and he fights, fights against death, against whatever the sick Galra want to do to him. Like a caged animal, stripped of life and will, he still fights.

Shiro awakens, thrashing, screaming, trembling. Warm hands grip his shoulders, and a face peers at him in the dark. His first instinct is to hit out, and his fist connects with flesh. There’s a strangled scream, and the grip on his arms releases, and the figure falls back. 

Shiro sits up from his sweat soaked sheets, panting, disorientated, and looks around, eyes crazed. Slowly, the scene settles, and the haze over his eyes clears. In his room, in the palace. In his bed, with the blankets wrapped tightly around his twitching legs. His eyes adjust to the darkness gradually, and he looks to where the figure lays on the ground, curled into a ball, groaning softly.  
“Keith?”

The boy looks up, eyes shining with involuntary tears. Shiro looks down at his aching fist. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith croaks, straightening up, “I heard you screaming,”

Shiro stares at his hand. His brain is slow, and he looks back up at Keith, who has gotten to his feet, and now stares at Shiro wearily, as though worried he’ll throw another punch.  
“No, I’m sorry,” Shiro replies, flexing his hand, “I was having a nightmare, and I thought…”  
He trails off, unsure of why he even punched Keith. His body reacted immediately as though Keith was a threat.

Keith steps closer.  
“It’s ok.” He crouches slightly by Shiro’s bed, “are you ok?”

Shiro licks his dry lips and nods. Not just his lips are dry, but his whole mouth. He still hasn’t stopped shaking, but he doesn’t realise until Keith puts a hand on his shoulder gently. Shiro flinches, and so does Keith.

“I’m fine,” he replies, but his voice gives him away. Weak, shaky and hoarse.  
Keith watches him, and the soft glow from the tiny lights in the room catch his eyes, turning his irises violet. 

“Do you get nightmares often?”

Shiro doesn’t reply for a while. He stares at his prosthetic arm, rubbing his thumb over the cold metal, pressing into the joints. He looks up, out the huge window that provides a marvellous view of the night sky; a view he would appreciate under any other circumstances.

“They’re getting more and more frequent,”

Keith moves so he’s sitting on Shiro’s bed, and then gently takes Shiro’s hand. Taken aback by Keith’s boldness, Shiro turns as if to pull away, but Keith has already dropped his hand.  
“You were wearing away the skin on your thumb,” he mutters.  
Shiro’s thumb is rubbed raw from stroking over his prothetic arm. He hadn’t even noticed it, but now the little cuts sting slightly.  
“Thanks,” 

The two sit in silence, bathed in the celestial light of the stars. 

“Are they flashbacks?” Keith asks softly. Shiro doesn’t visibly react to the question, but his mind recoils from the dark, twisting memories that automatically spring to the forefront of his consciousness.  
“Some of them. Other times, it’s all just…” he gestures vaguely with his hands, “fabricated,”

Keith’s hand grips Shiro’s again, and this time, neither pull away. Their gazes don’t meet, but Keith simply runs his thumb over Shiro’s white knuckles. Slowly, they relax.  
“I can hear you most nights,” Keith tells him. Shiro raises his eyebrows. Some nights, he can barely remember the nightmares. Other nights, they’re so vivid it’s as if the disgusting monsters are standing right over him, breathing on his skin, poking and prodding and snarling. Some times he screams and fights. Some times he can’t.  
“I…didn’t realise I was so loud,” Shiro responds. The warmth from Keith’s hand is spreading up his cold skin, and the little goosebumps that litter his forearm slowly go away.  
“It’s not always screaming. Sometimes I can just hear you moving around,” Keith looks past Shiro, out the huge window, “other nights it’s like your whole voice is echoing through the palace,”  
“Have the others noticed?” Shiro asks immediately, worried that a lack of sleep would badly damage their reflexes. He was less worried about himself and Keith. They were made of different, tougher stuff. They could function and survive outside of human comfort levels.  
“If they have, they don’t say anything,” is all Keith says. 

His thumb ceases brushing over Shiro’s knuckles, and Shiro’s grip involuntarily tightens, worried that Keith may try to withdraw his hand. But Keith makes no such move. He simply sits, and stares out at the sky.

Silence. Warm, comfortable, understanding silence. Shiro is thankful, because he doesn’t know if his voice could put up with much chatter. He would have to do something tomorrow, lest the others notice how croaky he sounded. But Allura would notice something. She always did.

The silence stretches on, and then, Keith sighs softly. Shiro moves a few inches away.  
“You should go back to sleep,”  
“So should you,” Keith answers immediately, and he raises his eyes to meet Shiro’s. They lock in a stare, waiting to see who will buckle first.

Keith does.

“I’m not leaving you on your own,” he says as his eyes flicker away briefly, then flit back to meet Shiro’s. 

“You need to sleep,” Shiro says firmly, in a tone that Keith would usually obey, but this time, he squares his shoulders stubbornly.  
“I’m not leaving you to scream yourself hoarse again,” Keith says, and he lays back, letting his hand slip from Shiro’s, and propping himself up on one elbow, “I’ll be right here,”

Shiro watches Keith, watches his expression. He was usually adept at reading people, even Keith, but now, his emotions were hidden behind the usual mask of indifference. But there a set to his jaw and a hardness to eyes that assures Shiro nothing would make him leave short of a freak Galra attack. 

Shiro shivers at the thought of a Galra attack, then slowly lies back, stiffly, on his back.

“When do the nightmares start?” Keith asks, looking down at Shiro, still propped up. Shiro breathes in deeply, and clenches and unclenches his jaw nervously, eyes fluttering shut.  
“A few minutes after I fall asleep,”  
His eyes snap open again, suddenly feeling vulnerable, and he looks to Keith. He hans’t moved, and just stares down at Shiro cooly, his eyes fixed on Shiro’s.  
“Relax,” he says softly, and he reaches out, linking his fingers once again with Shiro’s. His boldness no longer takes Shiro by surprise; quite the opposite, it’s nice to feel the warm skin and pulse of another human against his. 

Shiro allows his eyes to close again, and his breathing slowly levels out as Keith’s thumb strokes over his tensed knuckles.  
“Relax,” Keith repeats, his voice just above a whisper.

Slowly, the glowing stars and soft sounds of the castle melt into the background, and his heart beat and breathing are all he acknowledges. And Keith's unfamiliar yet welcomed presence beside him. 

Keith watches as Shiro’s body relaxes, and his head falls to the side slightly. His breathing evens out, and his chest rises and falls gently. 

He lowers himself carefully and slowly, so as not to wake the sleeping man. Tucking his head in the crook of Shiro’s neck, he allows his eyes to drift shut, and finds long lost contentment in the calming presence of someone who finally understands him.


End file.
